Nightmares
by Moonpumpkin
Summary: They weren't as carefree as they liked everyone to believe. Even the Marauders have demons to deal with. A look into the nightmares of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.
1. Sirius

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter stories or any of its characters.**

The quiet of the room was deafening. Sirius sat in the middle of his bedroom at Grimmauld Place, surrounded by nothing but silence. Not that he minded—he much preferred it over his mother's screeching any day—but it was beginning to get a bit unnerving. The house wasn't usually this quiet. Sirius's mother was always yelling for some reason or another. His father was always stomping around the house, grumpy after his day at the Ministry. Regulus was always gloating to their parents about his friends, grades, or accomplishments, securing his spot as the favored child. And Kreacher was always mumbling about how much he really hated his "disgraceful master Sirius, always upsetting his mistress." But tonight, nothing. Sirius strained his ears to hear the slightest pin drop, but all he was able to detect was the overwhelming silence.

After a few minutes of that, Sirius decided that it really wasn't worth his time. After all, it wasn't as if his family cared about anything that had to do with him, so why should he give a second's thought about them? Sitting on the hardwood floor of his room, he cracked open one of his favorite books. Other students at Hogwarts would laugh if they heard the great Sirius Black enjoyed casual reading, but it was one of the only ways he could find peace in this godforsaken house. He could imagine he was somewhere far grander, magical in a different sense.

A sharp rap on the door ripped Sirius out of his fantasy, causing him to jump to his feet unconsciously. His breathing slowed when he remembered where he was, and another knock reminded him why he got up. Slowly, he strode to his door, opening it to find his mother standing on the other side, smiling sweetly.

Walburga Black didn't smile. Ever. She may have smirked in a malicious fashion, but she never smiled. Nor was she a sweet woman. She constantly screamed at Sirius, reminding him that she was disgusted with him, and how she couldn't believe that she gave birth to such an intolerable disgrace of a child. Sirius, in all of his fifteen years, had never witnessed her as anything but cruel, impatient, bitter, and hag-like. Yet, there she was, standing outside her least favorite family member's door, smiling sweetly.

"Yes, mother?" Sirius asked warily, narrowing his eyes. He didn't trust her; not one bit.

"Oh, Sirius," Walburga sighed, still smiling. It was almost sickening, the way she was acting. "I know that you did not mean to disappoint me, or disgrace out family so much. I know that you only act defiantly now because you inherited my stubborn nature and you father's fighting spirit," she continued, looking sympathetic. Sirius had absolutely no idea where this was coming from, and quite frankly, he didn't know how to react. But before he could say anything, his mother went on. "I realize that all of this has been blown way out of proportion. I do not want to hate you, and I know that you do not want to hate me or the rest of your family. That is why, my darling boy, I offer you a chance to redeem yourself."

Sirius shivered. The only time his mother had used pet names such as 'darling' was when he was in serious trouble and he knew that it called for a beating. He thought back to what she had just said- _"I offer you a chance to redeem yourself…"_ Sirius didn't like the sound of that. Anything that would raise him higher in his parents' eyes most likely went against his own set of morals. "Mother, what are you on about?" he asked hesitantly. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know.

Walburga's smile, which had faded a bit as she had been trying to make sense of the hatred among the Black family, returned with full force, causing Sirius to step back involuntarily. "Well, my son, as you know, there is a wizard—a very powerful wizard, in fact—who supports blood purification of the wizarding race. He has started to show up more often in the _Prophet_ as of late. I am sure you have heard of him—I believe he is called the Dark Lord?"

Sirius choked. Coughing, he managed to get out, "Voldemort?"

Walburga slapped him. Cheek stinging and face red, Sirius turned his face to look back at his mother. "You insolent child! Do not say the Dark Lord's name! Soon, it will be master to you!" She looked absolutely livid, her eyes wild and temples bulging.

His mother's words sunk in. _Master…_ Sirius's eyes flew wide open as he realized the implications behind her statement. "You don't mean…" he drifted off in a whisper.

Walburga nodded, seeming to have gotten her anger back in check. "Yes, boy. You have screwed up your life and our reputation thus far, but you have a chance to change all of that. By becoming a Death Eater-"

"NO! THERE IS NO FREAKING WAY IN THIS LIFETIME THAT I COULD EVEN _CONSIDER_ FOR A _SECOND_ BECOMING ONE OF THEM!" Sirius shouted at his mother, giving himself a headache from the decibel that he had achieved. If there was one thing that Sirius had inherited from his family besides looks, it was his temper. It was something that he was not proud of, seeing as it got him in trouble more often than not.

Instead of blowing up in fury, as Sirius had expected, Walburga seemed eerily calm. It was unnerving to Sirius. "Why not? What reasons have you for not joining? Regulus has already joined…"

Everything around Sirius clouded over and faded away. No. Not Regulus, not his baby brother. He was smarter than that, braver too. He couldn't be as thick and cowardly as to join that band of murderers. Not him, not at fourteen, not ever. Sirius had thought that he was so much more than that.

Walburga's voice drifted into Sirius's ears, and his surroundings slowly came back around him. His mother seemed to still be going on about Death Eaters, saying, "-if both of my sons had joined the Dark Lord, even the disgraceful one. Don't you want to make your mother proud?"

Suddenly, Sirius was livid again. "I tried mother. I've tried to gain your approval and love since I've been a small boy. But I just can't seem to do it, can I? Well, guess what? I'm done! I'm not going to stoop so low as to become a killer, simply so make you _proud_."

Sirius's mother sighed and hung her head a little. In a voice that was barely audible, she muttered, "I did not want it to come to this…" Sirius's eyebrows knitted together before Walburga screeched down the stairs for his father. "ORION!"

Sirius knew what was about to happen. He knew he was in for hell. But this time, he couldn't seem to care. His parents had gone too far this time. To suggest that he become a Death Eater and turn against everything he'd ever supported, to suggest that he become like the rest of his family—it was just plain insulting to think that he would change his mind now.

Orion Black stormed up the steps and was suddenly next to his wife in Sirius's doorframe. He was a tall, dark, frightening man. His cold, black eyes bore into his son with anger. "What has he done now, Walburga?"

Folding her arms across her chest and never taking her eyes off of her eldest son, she explained, "Sirius has declined our offer. He vehemently refuses to join the Dark Lord. I believe he simply needs a bit more convincing." Sirius stared straight into his father's eyes as she spoke, his jaw set defiantly. He would not back down. He never had, and he was not about to start.

"I see," Orion said, taking a few steps into the room, arms clasped behind his back. "And why not, Sirius?"

Sirius bared his teeth, disgusted. "Because I don't believe in your pureblooded dominance views. Because I actually care about those who don't come from an old wizarding family. Because I judge people based on their personality instead of their blood status. Because I'm not you. Because I'm not like you or Regulus or the Malfoys or Lestranges or McNairs." Sirius' temper was growing again, and he couldn't stop his voice from rising. "All this crap that you've been feeding Regulus and me since we were young is wrong! We aren't better than everyone else just because we're pureblooded! No one has any right to kill or even hurt another based on their background! And that's exactly what this Voldemort guy is doing! He's killing anyone who isn't pureblood just because they're different!"

Orion stood staring calmly at his son all through his rant. When Sirius was done, face red, panting, Orion simply stared at him. He took a deep, long breath, and looked at Sirius in disappointment. "So this is how you feel. There is no changing your mind?" Shakily, warily, Sirius shook his head. Orion sighed. "I always knew you were a stubborn one. But I had expected you to grow out of it." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry it had to come to this."

Orion backhanded Sirius so fast that he didn't see it, and barely had time to register it. His head snapped to the left sharply, and he looked back only to see his father's fist hit him squarely in the jaw. Sirius stumbled back a bit. Orion pursed his lips together. "This is what happens when you disobey what you are told. Your mother and I told you to make us proud by being sorted into Slytherin. Did you?"

Sirius looked up again at his father, defiance in his eyes. Smiling ruefully, he responded proudly, "No." The word had no sooner left his mouth than his father punched him in the stomach, hard. Gripping Sirius's shoulder tightly as to keep him upright, Orion hit him until his son was gasping for breath. He let go of his shoulder, and Sirius sank to the ground, clutching his midsection.

"Your mother and I told you to stop fraternizing with that blood-traitor Potter, the half-blood Lupin, that filthy excuse for a wizard Pettigrew, and that redheaded mudblood. Did you?"

Sirius shook his head. "No," he said, breathing hard. A kick to the side of the face sent him reeling. He fell onto his side, stars shooting up in front of his eyes. He tried to blink them away as his father started up again. His voice was a bit muffled to Sirius, but he caught enough.

"—do as your brother did, to uphold family reputation, and to respect family ideals. Did you?"

Before Sirius could gasp out another 'No,' Walburga answered for him. "No! You have NOT! You have been nothing but an ungrateful wretch since you were a small child. You always rebelled against anything we have ever taught you, and I do not know why we have put up with it for so long! In fact, I do not know why I have not had you killed before now!" Sirius stared at his mother in horror. He was appalled that she would even say such a thing, but he was far from surprised. He was more afraid of what she would do to him in such an angered state. "You do not deserve to lick the scum off of my shoes. You are _worthless_, and I cannot believe I have not done this before. _Crucio_!"

Sirius's veins were afire. His blood boiled inside his skin, which felt as if it were being ripped and shredded into a million pieces. He felt his insides twisting and knotting around themselves. It was if he was being stabbed in every pore of his skin, then lit of fire, and stretched beyond his limits. The pain was excruciating, and although he didn't want his parents to have the satisfaction of hearing his screams of agony, he could not keep it inside. He screamed so loudly that he was sure he was going to go deaf or pop a lung, but he couldn't pay attention to anything but the sheer pain exploding inside his body.

Suddenly the curse was lifted and Sirius heard a faint knocking in the distance. Pain still coursed through his body, and he wasn't quite sure of where he was. He was dazed, whimpering on the floor uncontrollably, and he just wanted to curl up in a dark hole where the world could never find him. Sirius was vaguely aware of a voice, a voice that he thought sounded like his brother's, saying something. What was it? He couldn't quite make it out. Turning his head, and releasing an explosion of pain inside his brain and neck, Sirius tried to focus his eyes on his brother. Regulus was looking down at him slowly as he said, "He's arrived."

The room was still for a moment, Sirius trying to comprehend what was going on, and his parents anticipating what was soon to happen. Orion turned sharply away from Regulus and marched over to his eldest son, wrenching him up by the collar of his shirt. Sirius tried to stand, but the effects of the Cruciatus hadn't quite worn off, and he found that his legs were unwilling to do what he wanted. His father scoffed, clearly disgusted by the sight, and promptly began to drag Sirius out the door. Regulus threw his brother an apologetic glance as their father hauled him down the hall. Sirius made an attempt to scramble to his feet as they approached the stairs but his feet would only slide along the floor. He curled his arms about his head as his father cast him down the stairs. Sirius felt every step collide with his body. He lay at the bottom, suppressing a groan that he knew would get him beaten more. The ominous clunks of Orion's footsteps made him shudder, and he prayed, for one of the few times in his life, to just make everything go away. Sirius had a hard time believing in God, but at that moment, he really hoped there was one, and that he was merciful.

"Get up, scum," Orion growled, kicking him sharply in the ribs. Sirius yelped reflexively, earning himself another swift kick. Slowly, he rolled himself onto his stomach and managed to raise himself up on his hands and knees. Orion, impatient, pulled him up the rest of the way by his hair. When Sirius was standing fully, he let go and shoved him toward the door that Regulus was holding open. Sirius stumbled through the doorway, almost falling, but he caught himself on the doorframe. A round of cackles and snickers made him jump in surprise. Looking up from where his eyes were locked on the ground, he saw a semicircle of cloaked and masked figures. In the center of them all was a man—a man, who, to Sirius, did not look like a man at all. His skin was as pale as moonlight, his eyes were snakelike slits, and his sneer was enough to make Dementors cower. Sirius was looking at Voldemort himself.

"Well, well," he hissed, and a shiver ran down Sirius's spine. Orion appeared behind him and shoved him out of the doorway. Sirius, not expecting it, tripped down the stairs. His body screamed in protest, but he managed to pull himself to his elbows, and found himself lying at Voldemort's feet. "If it isn't Sirius Black. I have wanted to meet you for a long time." Sirius shuddered as the ring of Death Eaters snickered underneath their breath. "Although, I do believe all the pain you have suffered could have been prevented, if you weren't such a stubborn child." Voldemort smiled wickedly, his arms spread wide. "Come, young Sirius—join me, and I can make all the hurt go away."

Voldemort was right about Sirius in one respect—he was stubborn as all hell. Drawing himself to his full height, ignoring his body's complaints, he glared straight into Volemort's eyes. Smiling humorlessly, he declared, "No, thanks. I think I'll pass."

The Death Eaters were silent, apprehensive maybe. Beside his parents, Regulus was biting his lip. He knew too well what happened to wizards who dared to defy the Dark Lord.

To their immense surprise, Voldemort threw his head back and laughed. Bringing his eyes back to Sirius, who still stood defiantly, he chuckled, "You really do have the gall of a Gryffindor, Black. In some ways it is admirable; in others, it is foolish." Voldemort had stopped laughing, and his gaze was hard. He sighed. "It's a shame, Sirius, that you feel the way you do. After all, I could give you anything that you wanted. I could give you so much power…"

Demonstrating such power, Voldemort raised his wand at Sirius, almost lazily. Suddenly, Sirius was on the ground, writhing in pain. A purple aura surrounded him, and he felt it enter him through every pore, and begin to burn him from the inside out. He couldn't help but scream.

The spell was lifted abruptly, leaving Sirius gasping for breath. He panted, and rasped, "I don't want… anything… you can give me. I've… got it al—already."

The cackles of Death Eaters were muffled in his ears, and he felt his eyes start to droop in exhaustion. Voldemort's voice cut through the fog in his brain, as though he was _inside _his brain. "Oh? I don't suppose you mean your little friends?" Sirius heard him snap his fingers, and there were three '_pop!'_ noises. And then he heard the very last thing he ever wanted to hear.

"Sirius!" a familiar voice yelled. Two more voices echoed the first, all of which he recognized. Lifting his head from the ground, he confirmed his worst fears—in the hands of the Death Eaters, wands at their throats, were James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. Behind him, Walburga chortled in glee. Sirius could literally feel his life crumble around him.

"Alright, boy, I'll ask you just one more time. Join my Death Eaters, or watch your friends die," Voldemort said exasperatedly. "And you'd better make up your mind fast—I've become impatient with you and your insolence."

Sirius looked at his friends desperately. "Don't listen to him Sirius!" James called out. "It's not worth it! You can't—" He was cut off with a silencing spell that Voldemort placed on him and the rest. They all shook their heads, wordlessly telling him to not accept, but he couldn't let them die! They were his best friends, the only people that cared for him in the world! But if he joined to save their lives, would he be given a mission to kill them anyway? Would they hate him forever?

"Your time is up, Black!" Voldemort announced. "Now you are all dead." He pointed his wand at James, who squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away. "_Avada Ked—_"

"WAIT!" Sirius heard himself shout. Voldemort stopped mid-spell and turned to him. The tears rolled down his cheeks as Sirius whispered, "I'll do it. Just don't kill them. Please, don't hurt them."

The wicked smile that graced Voldemort's lips made Sirius feel sick. "Very well." Sirius felt two burly Death Eaters hoist him to his feet and drag him towards Voldemort. One yanked out Sirius's left arm, palm up, exposing his pale, bare skin. Voldemort placed the tip of his wand on Sirius's arm and muttered a few words. Sirius cried out in pain. He could feel the darkness enter his arm, seep into his veins, and spread throughout his body. Glancing at his arm, he now saw a picture of a black snake slithering through and around a skull. The Dark Mark.

Voldemort's cold hand cupped Sirius's face, causing him to stiffen immediately. "There, there, don't weep. I'm proud of you," he hissed maliciously. Turning, he gave a signal to one of the Death Eaters holding Sirius's friends.

Grinning maniacally, the Death Eater holding Remus shrieked, "_Avada Kedavra!_" Sirius screamed as Remus' body arched, and then went limp. He made to run forward, but a full body bind was cast on him, as well as a silencing charm, so that he had to silently endure the torture. He watched the green light flash and saw each of his dear friends fall. Peter dropped lifelessly like a marionette whose strings had been cut. And James, his brother in almost every sense of the word, crumpled gracefully to the ground; Sirius half wondered if James was simply pulling a prank, if he would jump up at any moment to attack the surrounding Death Eaters.

They each fell gracefully, their eyes full of sadness, surprise, and what Sirius could have sworn was accusation. His body collapsed to the ground as the binding spell was lifted, and he could find no energy to do anything but sob. He could only keen for the friends that he had lost, that _he_ had gotten killed, as Voldemort grinned triumphantly.

Sirius cried out as he woke, jerking his body upright. He was soaked in sweat and panting heavily. Glancing around, he saw that he was in his dormitory in Hogwarts, not outside Grimmauld Place surrounded by Death Eaters and Voldemort himself. Though he knew he was safe, he couldn't stop his heart from racing or the nausea from welling in his stomach. It had been so real.

"Sirius?" Not expecting the voice, Sirius's heart nearly jumped out of his chest. Whirling around, he saw that James held open his bed hangings, and behind him stood Remus and Peter. "Padfoot, mate, are you alright?" Taking shaky breaths, Sirius shook his head vigorously. Not able to speak, he mouthed, 'No.'

The other Marauders climbed into the bed to sit cross-legged around Sirius. James sat next to him and rested an arm across his shoulders. Sirius crumpled forward, head in hands. "Nightmare, Sirius?" Remus asked. This had become a familiar routine for the Marauders.

Sirius nodded. "It was bad this time. Really bad."

"What happened, Padfoot?" Peter prompted.

Sirius was silent for a long minute. He looked up at his friends with watery eyes, though he would deny it vigorously in the future. "He had you," he whispered. "He told me if I joined he'd spare you. I did." Sirius shuddered and pulled his arms against his stomach. "But he didn't. I joined and he killed you anyway."

James tightened his hold around Sirius' shoulders and Sirius leaned into him slightly. "Mate, we're right here. There's no need to worry."

Sirius looked at him sharply. "But what about after we graduate? Hogwarts can't keep us safe forever! What's going to happen in this war?"

James took a deep breath and lowered his eyes. "I don't know," he admitted. He looked up to meet Sirius' gaze again. "I don't know what's going to happen. But what I do know is that I will try my bloody best to keep all of you safe."

Sirius nodded, sniffing. "Me, too."

"Me, too," Remus added, placing a hand on Sirius' shin.

"Me, too," Peter echoed, quieter than the rest.

"I won't let anything happen to any of you," Sirius said firmly, his eyes steeling over. "I promise."


	2. Remus

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any of its characters**

The routine was painfully familiar. He was locked in a cage several hours beforehand with nothing to occupy the time save for his own thoughts. Pain—excruciating pain, the kind that he had yet to become accustomed to, even after six years. Then he retreated far within, looking out through another's eyes. Finally, the Darkness. He was never quite sure whether he welcomed the relief of the Darkness or feared what happened during it, when he couldn't control. When he woke in the morning, he found himself half wishing he had killed himself, and yet he knew he hadn't because surely the dead could not feel so much pain. Someone would come and collect him with those horrible, pitying expressions, telling him it would get better when they both knew it was a lie. And then he would attempt to assimilate back into normal society, avoiding the questioning stares and lying swiftly to those bold enough to ask about his new injuries. No, this was nothing new to him.

Remus sat in the Shrieking Shack, shivering as the new Spring Sun dipped behind the horizon. Taking a deep breath, he resigned himself to his fate and began changing out of his clothes. His parents had spent a great deal of money funding research to find a cure for lycanthropy, to no avail. Remus knew it was irresponsibly wasteful to leave his clothes on for the transformation, only to have them torn to shreds. Folding them neatly, Remus pulled up one of the floorboards to store them in, where the wolf could not reach them. He replaced the floorboard and stood in the center of the shack, arms wrapped around his lithe frame.

Remus glanced out of the small hole it the side of the ramshackle building to gage how much time he had left in his current body. The sky was still a smear of orange and pink, and in that moment, Remus decided it was his favorite color. Remus sighed. He had never thought he would be here, at Hogwarts. He never thought he'd be allowed the same education as other witches and wizards in Britain, even if he didn't have the same opportunities upon graduating. Never would he have even hoped to dream that a headmaster would see his as a boy, just a boy, rather than a vicious monster.

The wait was agonizing, but finally the sky went black and the stars began to peek out. Remus squeezed his eyes shut as a pressure built up in his back. He cried out as the bones elongated, cracking and reforming. His skin stretched farther than he felt should have been possible. Muscles contracted and lengthened, screaming in protest (_or was that _him_ screaming?)._ Remus' jaw began to morph and protract forward as his teeth sharpened. He could feel the hair on his body thicken and grow, tearing at his follicles (_it hurts, everything hurts, make it stop, please stop_). His vision, smell, and hearing sharpened, his sharpened senses overloading his still somewhat human mind. The wolf's ears picked up on voices outside the shack, whooping and hollering. Remus' brain was becoming sluggish. Something seemed wrong (_it's bad, really really bad)_, but he couldn't figure out what. And then Remus slipped into the Darkness.

When he awoke, it was to a severe white penetrating his every pore. Remus wondered offhandedly if he was in Heaven. But then, of course, like every other month, the ache deep in his bones told him otherwise. Remus kept his eyes scrunched shut, but the light was painful even behind his eyelids. His senses were still heightened, and the smell of antiseptic surrounded and nauseated him. He could hear people something rustling beside him and a recurrent sniff from somewhere to his left. Remus cracked his eyes open slowly, adjusting to the brightness. Once his surroundings came into focus, he found he was in the Hospital Wing, a room that he'd frequented at least once a month for the past two years.

Almost immediately, Remus could sense that something was different. Madam Pomfrey was not hovering over him, minding his injuries, nor was she bustling about worrying about other patients. In fact, she was nowhere in his immediate line of sight. Remus turned his head, grimacing when the muscles all down his back clenched at the movement. He heard another sniff and shifted his gaze to where it came from. There, just inside the doorway of her office, was Madam Pomfrey, crying in the arms of Professor McGonagall. Remus furrowed his brow in confusion. In his two years at Hogwarts, Remus had only ever seen Madam Pomfrey tut at injuries, blanch at the very worst. In his eyes, the matron was unshakable. Yet, she was clutching the professor to her as her body wracked with sobs.

"Did you hear?" Remus whipped his head around at the question. The muscles in his neck cried out and his vision swam for a few moments before clearing up. A boy a few years older than him was propped up in the bed next to him. He arm was in a sling, and his eyes were bright with apprehension and anxiety. Slowly, as to prevent further aggravating his neck, Remus shook his head. "Apparently three students were killed last night."

All the blood drained from Remus' face. Students were killed? Last night? Remus began to hyperventilate. It was him. It was the wolf. He'd heard those voices outside last night. He must have broken loose. He must have—Remus rolled onto his side, ignoring the pain, and threw up over the side of the bed. Even when there was nothing left, his stomach tried to purge more. When he'd regained his breath, Remus wiped his mouth on his sleeve and croaked, "Who?" When the boy didn't answer right away, Remus repeated himself, more desperate this time. "_Who?_"

"Three second years," the boy answered, lowering his gaze to his hands. "Those troublemakers that were always pulling pranks on the Slytherins. Somehow they managed to find a way into Hogsmeade and some…monster attacked them." He pointed a finger across the room. "They're right over there. The parents are due to be here any moment."

Remus wriggled himself into an upright position. Sure enough, across from him were three bodies, covered by white sheets. He noted grimly that one of them only had one leg. Tears ran uncontrollably down his face. His friends. James, Sirius, and Peter had been his very first friends since he was bitten. He couldn't believe what he'd done to them.

The door of the Hospital Wing opened and Remus turned numbly to see who it was. There stood Albus Dumbledore, the man who had believed he was only a boy. The twinkle in his blue eyes was gone. He looked at Remus with pity, the same pity that he'd seen on his parents' faces and the matron's, only this time it was worse. This time it wasn't just about him. His friends were gone. He would never be allowed to attend Hogwarts again. The Ministry would have him and he'd either be put down or sentenced to Azkaban for life. And it was all his fault.

Remus gasped awake, struggling against the sheets. "Rem, chill out." Remus jumped at the voice and quickly turned to see Sirius staring down at him with bleary eyes and ruffled hair. "'S just a dream," he slurred.

Remus sat up, still breathing heavily. He had always had vivid nightmares, but that had definitely been the worst. It was something he thought about every day. What was Dumbledore thinking, letting an animal into the school? What if he hurt someone? What if someone found out? It had slowly been eating away at Remus for the past two years.

"D'ya want to talk about it?" James asked, getting up from his bed to stand beside Sirius and fumbling to put on his glasses.

"My mum always says talking about nightmares helps to make them go away," Peter added on Remus' other side.

Remus shook his head vigorously. "No," he stated firmly. "No, I don't want to talk about it at all."

Sirius, however, in his usual tactless manner, ignored Remus completely and dropped heavily onto the foot of the bed. "Look, mate, we need to straighten something out." Remus' heart began to pound. Could this be another dream? It had to be. Seeing the warning glace James shot at Sirius, he begged it to be.

"What Sirius is trying to say is—"

"We know," Sirius interrupted, staring at Remus head on.

"Sirius!" Peter gasped, but Sirius ignored him and continued.

"We know you're a werewolf. We know you go to the Shrieking Shack every month on the full moon. That's why you're away, not because your mum is sick. That's why you always come back so banged up. It's because you're a werewolf."

Remus panicked. He had always been a good liar—an exceptional liar—because of his condition, but no one had ever confronted him so directly before. Suddenly the only thing going through Remus' head was to get out and away from the other boys (_run, run away, run away _now). But he couldn't even bring himself to do that. He was frozen in place, staring back at Sirius' steely eyes, trapped like an animal.

James sat down on the side of the bed, breaking Remus from his trance. Reflexively, he scurried back until his shoulder blades hit the headboard, nowhere else to go. James looked at him curiously. "We're not going to hurt you, Remus."

"I'm sorry." The words were out of Remus before he realized it, and they kept pouring out. "I'm so sorry. I just wanted to go to school so bad and Dumbledore was the only one that would let me and he made me promise not to tell anyone and I'm safe those nights, I swear I am, I don't hurt anybody but myself and—"

"Remus, stop." Sirius' sharp command cut through Remus' rambling. He should have known. He should have known it wouldn't last. He couldn't possibly live in a dorm for so long—especially with boys like James and Sirius, and even Peter, who was clever in his own way—without being discovered. He would miss Hogwarts so much. He loved the castle, the paintings, the feasts, the professors, the ghosts, the books, the grounds, and mostly his friends. He had grown so fond of his friends over the past two years. Taking a deep breath, he whispered, "I'll pack my things now."

"Why?" Remus' head shot in Peter's direction. The boy looked at him in genuine confusion. "Are you leaving?"

"W-well," Remus stammered, "I-I figured you wouldn't want a…m-monster like me here at Hogwarts."

"Don't call yourself that," James all but growled. "Look—yes, once a month you turn into a wolf and you can't control yourself." Remus winced but James continued. "Once a month. That's only twelve days out of the year. So for the other…" James glanced up as he did some quick math in his head, "three hundred and fifty-three days of the year, you're perfectly normal. In fact, you're probably the most humane one of us all. I mean, look at Sirius—he's a psycho all three hundred and sixty-five days of the year, and they still let him into Hogwarts." The corners of Sirius' mouth twitched, but he continued staring intently at Remus. "So don't call yourself a monster. You're not. You're just a boy with a…chronic illness of sorts."

Remus looked around at them, wide eyed. "So you…you don't hate me?"

James laughed heartily. "No, you duffer! I could never hate you."  
"I don't hate you either, Remus!" Peter piped up, grinning broadly. "Far from it, in fact."

Remus turned to look at Sirius apprehensively. Though both James and Sirius had grown up in pureblooded households, Sirius' family was much more prejudiced and intolerant of anything deemed beneath them. Certainly Sirius had been taught that halfbreeds were scum. And even though Sirius was breaking away from his family's traditions, he still showed a mean, superior streak now and then. Remus hoped now wasn't one of those times. "Sirius?" he asked quietly. "Do you hate me?"

Slowly, Sirius shook his head, still eying Remus levelly. "No," he whispered. "No, of course not. Remus, you're one of my best friends." Remus' body sagged in relief. "I just wish you had told us," he went on. "I wish you felt you could have trusted us."

James smacked Sirius upside the head, startling the other boy. "What are you talking about, Sirius? Remus can't very well go about telling everybody he's a werewolf! You know as well as I do not everyone takes kindly to information like that, even so-called friends." James glanced nervously at Remus. "No offense, mate."

"None taken." Remus was just relieved that his friends were still his friends.

"Erm, Remus?" Peter asked quietly. The other boys turned to listen to him. "What did you mean when you said you don't hurt anyone but yourself?"

Remus' face flushed as the focus was turned back on him, three pairs of eyes staring at him expectantly. "Well, like you said, I go to the Shrieking Shack to transform so I don't hurt anyone else. And …a werewolf is like any other predator. It wants prey. So when it can't find any, it gets angry and it…it turns on itself."

"_What?_" Sirius exclaimed, jumping up from the bed. "They—they let you do that? Dumbledore thinks it's okay to let you go at yourself every month?"

Remus shook his head. "There's nothing else he can do," he insisted.

"There's got to be something," Sirius argued. James placed a hand on Sirius' shoulder, grounding him, and Sirius calmed down. "There's got to be."

"We can figure something out, can't we?" Peter asked earnestly. Remus shook his head as James and Sirius nodded.

"Of course we can! We can and we will!" James proclaimed, puffing out his chest. Remus chuckled at his bravado, and James deflated, smiling back. "Seriously, Remus. We're going to find a way to help you through this. We promise." Sirius and Peter nodded enthusiastically.

Remus grinned at the three boys surrounding him. When he was younger, Remus had day dreamed about going to school, learning anything he was presented with, all alongside his loyal friends. And here they were, grinning at him, offering him the world.


	3. Peter

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any of its characters**

Peter was walking down the dimly lit hallway, quickly. He couldn't quite remember why his friends weren't with him; usually he made a point to have at least one of them with him outside Gryffindor Tower. The Slytherins had taken a great interest in teasing him mercilessly, but it didn't happen as often with James, Sirius, or Remus around. Firstly, the Slytherins seemed to enjoy the challenge the others posed more, shifting the focus off Peter. Secondly, a fight was less likely to break out—except if it was only Sirus with him, in which case it was _more_ likely, but that was beside the point—if his friends were at his side. While this was a relief to Peter, it often infuriated him too. It wasn't fair that he was looked upon as incompetent, not only by Slytherins, but all the students and staff of Hogwarts. He understood the theories behind spells, he really did—he just wasn't as quick to pick them up in practical application. Plus, he was only a first year; he wasn't supposed to be a particularly spectacular wizard yet.

Except that his newfound friends were. Like Peter, James and Sirius grew up in pureblood families, but their situations were vastly different to his. James had apparently performed his first accidental magic at a really young age, and so his parents had encouraged his natural abilities by teaching him a lot before school. Sirius' parents, intent on producing the best heir out of all the noble families, had hired tutors to drill the curriculums of first through fourth year into his head before he even turned eleven; Sirius could easily afford to not pay attention in any of his classes because he quite literally did know everything being taught, theoretically, historically, and practically. Remus, for whatever reason, had a work ethic like nothing Peter had ever seen. Things didn't come as naturally to him as they did to James and Sirius, but he was driven to excel in a way that exhausted Peter to just look at him.

But Peter? He wasn't as naturally gifted as the other three, nor did he possess prior training or an insane ability to focus on studying for extended periods of time. If his friends had been any more normal, even slightly above average, Peter was convinced that he wouldn't have looked nearly as foolish as he felt. He wouldn't have been picked on as much because he would have been like everyone else. It wasn't fair—of course he looked incompetent in comparison to his friends.

However, this didn't mean that Peter didn't see the advantage in having friends so talented. They were fun to hang out with because they could talk a big talk, and after a little research, actually pull off whatever spectacular prank they had planned. They could help him with his homework when he couldn't quite figure it out. And they protected him from Slytherins that took pleasure in bullying him. Which is why he was confused why he was alone at night. Where were they? _Remus is probably in the library_, he mused, turning a corner into a similarly dark corridor_. And James and Sirius are probably stuffing themselves in the kitchen now that they've finally found it._ Peter chuckled at the thought.

"What's so funny?" sneered a cool voice from behind him. Peter jumped violently and spun around. The Lestrange brothers, Narcissa Black, Evan Rosier, and Lucius Malfoy glared down at him. Peter gulped. This wasn't good. They were all older students, in their sixth and seventh years, and well-practiced in the Dark Arts. Peter didn't answer. He couldn't he could only stare at them wide-eyed, and wish his friends were there for the millionth time. Malfoy spoke again. "What's a wee little Gryffindor doing walking about at night? And all alone?"

Peter saw a chance to get out. It was slim, but it was a chance nonetheless. "I-I was just going back to-to the dorm, so—"

"Actually," Malfoy drawled, "since you're here, I was hoping that you could…do us a favor of sorts."

Peter glanced between the members in the group of Slytherins. The Lestranges' stances were almost identical, arms folded and expression disinterested. Rosier's enthusiasm made up for their lack thereof. His eyes were almost manic in their wicked glee as he drummed his fingers on his thigh. Narcissa hung at the back of the group. Through she was the youngest of the Slytherins, the way she coolly stared down her nose at him made Peter feel like sinking through the floor. And Malfoy simply stared at him levelly with an unsettlingly polite smile. "Erm," Peter finally began, "a favor?" He _really_ hoped they only wanted to know the time.

"Well, isn't he a sharp one?" Malfoy cooed, and his cronies laughed. Peter suddenly registered just how much smaller he was than them. "Yes, Pettigrew, a favor. You see, your little friends pulled a prank on us recently, as I'm sure you are aware." Peter was aware. James and Sirius had used the cloak to sneak into the Slytherin rooms and put dungbombs in the toilets and set off fireworks in the common room. It had been his and Remus' job to convince the house elves to not clean the resulting mess. "While I am also aware that you too partook in this incident, we are willing to grant you amnesty. That is, if you will help us retaliate."

"Help?" Peter found himself asking. He had meant to say no right away, but his curiosity was peaked. Why would five sixth and seventh years need his help to get back as a few first years? He voiced his thoughts to the Slytherins.

Malfoy's polite smile seemed to turn malicious, though Peter wasn't sure if it was his imagination. "You see, Pettigrew, we aren't interested in simply hexing your idiotic friends. That is easy enough, but it wouldn't teach them anything, would it?" Peter just stared at the blonde warily, refusing to answer. "No, we want to destroy your friends. Make sure they won't repeat their folly actions." At this, Malfoy took a step closer to peter, his smirk growing. "But we need an inside man."

"No." Peter set his jaw and stared defiantly at the Slytherin. "I won't help you."

Malfoy stared at him coolly, gaze never wavering as Peter become redder and redder. Whatever momentary bravado Peter had instantly vanished. Malfoy shrugged, nonplussed. "Of course, of course. Well, in that case—Evan?"

Suddenly Peter was on the ground, the air violently expelled from his lungs. Something sliced deep in his gut, and again in his shoulder, and again across his back. Peter wanted to cry out, but he hadn't caught his breath yet. He had never hurt so badly. The sheer terror coursing through his veins only made it worse. He screamed when his body was suddenly lifted from the ground and tossed across the room. He braced his arms over his head reflexively, and he collided with the stone wall with a solid _thunk_. His side throbbed as he lay in a tangled heap on the floor.

"Where are your friends now, baby Pettigrew?" Rosier taunted, his voice gravelly and amused. He crouched down low next to Peter's ear, his breath hot and tickling. Peter clenched his eyes shut. Tears rolled uncontrollably down his cheeks. He didn't know. He didn't know where his friends were, but they weren't here to help. "You're all alone, little boy. They can't save you because they aren't here. Because they don't care about you."

Peter shook his head. "They do!" he wailed through his tears. "They do care!"

Malfoy tutted. "Come, come, Pettigrew, we both know that isn't true." Peter continued to shake his head, but Malfoy paid no attention. "Why would they care about something as talentless as you? Though I am loath to admit it, your friends are quite brilliant, for first years, never mind their immaturity. You, on the other hand…Merlin knows why they keep you around."

"Why are you saying this?" Peter whispered, still shrinking away from Rosier.

"Because, Peter," Malfoy began, the grin evident in his voice. Peter shivered at the use of his first name. "We can see that you are underappreciated. When was the last time your friends listened to your problems?" Malfoy waited, but Peter was silent. He was right. Granted, his problems were generally trivial, but they were never as indulged as the others' were. "When was the last time they seriously considered one of your ideas for a prank or adventure?" More silence. "Or helped you during your transfiguration so you didn't look foolish?" Peter said nothing. He couldn't. His mind was racing, trying to think of something, _anything_ to counter Malfoy's argument, but his mind was blank.

"The fact of the matter is, Pettigrew," Malfoy continued, "that your friends aren't your friends at all. They just let you trail after them because they were raised to be polite. But, Peter, it doesn't have to be that way." Peter slowly looked up from his spot on the ground. Rosier had returned to the group and Malfoy was now squatting next to him. The Slytherin placed a hand lightly on Peter's back, his ice blue eyes piercing into Peter's watery ones. "We can help you," Malfoy said lowly. "You won't just be their lackey anymore. You'll be your own person. You won't be weak anymore. You'll have power over them, and they won't be able to touch you."

Peter glanced down again, brow scrunched in thought. He didn't know what to do. His instinct was to refuse, to stand up for his friends. But each throb of his wounds made him doubt it just a little more. If he said no, there was no telling what the Slytherins would do to him. He was alone, with no help. And this probably wouldn't be the last time Malfoy and his gang cornered him. But if he did agree, what would his friends think? Certainly they'd hate him forever. But could the Slytherins protect him from them? If Malfoy was speaking the truth, the Slytherins wouldn't hurt him anymore, and they'd stop James, Sirius, and Remus from hurting him, too.

"So, what's your answer, Peter?" Malfoy asked, breaking him from his reverie. "Will you help us?"

Peter resisted the urge to empty his stomach. Looking Malfoy—Lucius—in the eyes, he asked, "How?" Lucius simply grinned.

Peter sat in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room afterward. It was still dark, and the room was empty save for him. His stomach was queasy, and he tried to regulate his breathing in order to push the feeling down. While talking to the Slytherins, Peter had forgotten the fact that they would have to part ways, leaving Peter, once again, alone and unprotected. He hadn't seen his friends since, and for once, he was grateful. If the Slytherins had already enacted their revenge, James, Sirius, and Remus would surely know his part and would come for him. If the Slytherins decided to wait, the three boys would be none the wiser and would treat Peter like usual. Peter wasn't sure which was worse.

But didn't they deserve it? If they had been with him in the first place, none of this would have happened. And Lucius was right; they did treat him like a second-class citizen. Wouldn't it serve them right to be knocked off their high-horses?

The slam of the portrait hole opening startled Peter out of his musings. He quickly turned, and upon seeing his friends—his former friends—he felt the blood rush out of his face.

The three boys were bloody, dirt smudging their faces, hair wild, and robes ripped at the seams. James' nose was bleeding and Sirius was sporting two black eyes. Remus' jaw was swelled and his lip was split. Peter could only imagine what other injuries were hidden under their clothes. James glared at Peter with a loathing generally only reserved for Snape. Remus wouldn't look at him at all. He was shaking slightly as he picked at the frayed hem of his torn sleeve. Sirius was shaking too, but with a murderous rage.

"You," he growled, pointing an accusatory finger at Peter. The latter boy desperately wished he could die right then. "You vile, traitorous, scummy swine!" Suddenly Sirius was running at him, eyes afire. Peter threw his arms over his head, the position agonizingly familiar, but nothing happened.

"Sirius!" James yelled, holding the boy back. Sirius struggled wildly, but James held him fast. "Sirius, stop! He's not worth it." Sirius continued to fight against James, but with less vigor. James tried reasoning with him. "You don't want to stoop to his level."

Finally Sirius seemed calm enough that James let himself be shrugged off. "You're right, James," he spat, still glaring venomously at Peter. "I wouldn't want to dirty my own hands. I'll just have someone else do it for me," he snarled. Sirius scoffed disgustedly and turned to storm up the stairs. James opened his mouth to say something to Peter, but finding no words, just shook his head before following his friend to the dormitory.

Remus remained where he was, still refusing to look at Peter. Peter didn't dare say anything. The silence stretched between them. Peter couldn't remember ever having felt so low in his life. Not when he stole some of his Nanna's cookies and blamed it on his cousin. Not when he was swatted by his mum for calling a muggleborn a Mudblood. Not even when he secretly wished his mean old neighbor that always yelled at him would finally die. None of it came close. "I thought about asking you why you did what you did," Remus started quietly. "But I think it would just make me angrier right now." He looked up at Peter, eyes tired and distressed. "I just don't get it, Peter. We were your friends. Weren't we?" Remus stared at Peter expectantly, but Peter couldn't answer past the lump in his throat. He was sitting stock still. Everything was going so, so wrong.

Remus sighed and went back to picking at his sleeve. "Don't come up to the dorm tonight. I don't know if James will hold Sirius back again." With that, Remus shuffled past Peter and trudged up the stairs.

Finally, Peter allowed a quiet sob to escape his lips. Burying his face in his hands, he let the tears leak down his face. He had been wrong earlier. This hurt so much worse than anything Lucius—no, Malfoy—and his friends could have done to him. Peter shook his head viciously, but he couldn't make the image of Malfoy's sneer leave him alone.

Peter shot up, freezing cold. Malfoy was cackling. "POTTER!" Sirius screamed. Sirius? Peter's mind untangled itself from his dream. It hadn't been Malfoy cackling, it was James. And Peter was freezing because James had dumped a bucket of ice water on him. Sirius was chasing James around the dorm, as Remus shook his head at them from the bathroom doorway. Sirius finally succeeded in rugby-tackling James, and the bespectacled boy cried out as the chill water dripping off of Sirius soaked through his clothes.

Peter quickly jumped out of bed and rid himself of his sodden shirt. He pulled a clean uniform on and tossed his wet pajamas on the floor absentmindedly. He couldn't quite clear his mind of the nightmare he'd just had. He walked toward the bathroom in a daze. When he tried to step past Remus, however, the boy placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "You okay, Peter?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

Peter looked at Remus in surprise, and then sighed, relieved. He was still hung up in his dream. He half expected the other three to despise him. "Yeah," he said, nodding. "It was just a nightmare."

"If it was about that charms essay on Thursday again," James called out from the floor where Sirius had him pinned, "we can go over that stuff with you again. But based on how you did last time we went over it, I'd say you're pretty well off, ma—YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" James squealed as Sirius stuck a spit-soaked finger in his ear.

Peter laughed at his friends' antics, trying to shake the last remnants of his dream. "No, it wasn't about that."

Remus was still looking at him curiously. "What was it?"

Peter hesitated. He wasn't sure he should tell them. His mum had always told him that it was better to get it out so you could laugh about it, but he didn't think the other boys would be laughing. What did it mean, that he had a dream about betraying his friends? He certainly didn't want to tell them that. He was about to brush it off again, but he made the mistake of meeting Remus' gaze. His eyes were soft, begging to understand. Peter sighed. He resolved to tell them. Some of it, anyway. "It was about the Slytherins. I was alone in a dark corridor and they found me and ganged up on me."

"What?" Sirius exclaimed from on top of James. James took this momentary distraction to throw his friend off his chest, and he wiped at his ear with his shirt sleeve vigorously.

"I had a dream that some older Slytherins beat me up," Peter repeated, dropping his gaze. Sirius probably never had nightmares like that. James or Remus either. They probably didn't even have nightmares. He was such a baby.

"That's stupid," James commented. Peter's heart plummeted into his feet. Of course it was stupid. He was stupid. "That could never happen," James continued.

"Yeah," Sirius laughed, wriggling on his socks. "We'd get them for you first."

Peter's head shot up to gape at his friends. James was redoing the buttons on his shirt, having misaligned them the first time, and Sirius was desperately trying to stuff his foot into a shoe without untying it. Peter glanced over at Remus to see him leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, smiling gently. "You would…what?"

"We'd take those gits down!" James proclaimed, grinning broadly, dangerously. "They wouldn't even see it coming, Pete!"

Remus nudged Peter's shoulder. "What those two half-wits are trying to say is that we've got your back, Peter. No need to worry."

Peter ignored James and Sirius' outraged protests at being called half-wits, biting on his lip worryingly. "But what happens if you aren't there, like in my dream? What if I'm all alone?"

"Nonsense!" James declared, valiantly beating a fist on his chest. "It shant happen, my good sir!" Sirius snorted, and was quickly hit in the face with a pillow.

Peter shook his head. "But what if it does happen?" he implored his friends. "What will I do?"

James and Sirius sobered, smiles sliding off their faces as they realized how serious their friend was. There were a few moments of silence until Sirius spoke up. "Well, I'm brilliant at Defense Against the Dark Arts, yeah?"

James hurled a chocolate frog box at his head, which Sirius deftly caught and began to open. "Not helping!"

Sirius bit off the frog's head. "I am, I'm trying to make a point!" he explained with a mouth full of chocolate. "Look, Peter, if you'd like, I can teach you how to duel. I'll teach you some more hexes and so you'll be able to hold your own against those stupid Slytherins." Sirius took another bite of the chocolate frog and raised his eyebrows.

"You would do that?" Peter asked, shocked. He was surprised that Sirius was willing to spend extra time with him. He and Sirius didn't get on as well as the others. Usually if it was just the two of them, neither really knew what to say. Peter felt the most comfortable around Remus because he was quiet and understated. James had been the one that took an interest in Peter and pulled the group together. Peter and Sirius had more or less been thrown together by the circumstances. If not for James, they probably wouldn't have been friends at all.

Sirius shrugged. "Yeah. Could be fun," he said, smiling roguishly. He flipped up the card in the box and groaned. "Newt Scamader again?"

"Guys, come on, we're gonna be late," Remus said, packing his books and quills in his bag. The other boys quickly bustled about, getting their things together. Peter was lagging a bit, still puzzled by what had transpired.

"I wish there was some way we could know where each of us was if we got separated," James mused, throwing his bag over his shoulder. "That way, if Peter was locked in a vicious battle with Slytherins, we could race to his aid!"

"That would be great," Sirius agreed. "Oh, you know what would be even better?" he asked, a conspiring glint appearing in his eyes. "If we had some way of knowing where everyone in the castle is! That way we could avoid Filch and the prefects when we pull pranks, and Peter could avoid the Slytherins if he was alone. Or we could find the Slytherins first before they even got to Peter!"

Peter grinned. "Or James could find Lily Evans any time he wanted."

James stopped in his tracks, causing Peter to bump into him. He turned around, wide-eyed and stared at Peter like a madman. "Pete," he whispered. "You, my man, are a genius!" he yelled, whooping and pumping a fist in the air. He began yammering wildly about the girl of his dreams, and Sirius bemoaned loudly about how they'd heard it all before. As they descended the stairs to the common room, Peter glanced at Remus and smiled in silent thanks. Remus returned the smile and threw an arm around Peter's shoulders. It was awkward going down the stairs and with Peter's bag between them, but Peter didn't dare shrug him off. Peter didn't even know if there was a word for the feeling he felt surrounded by his friends, the welcome weight of Remus' arm settled on his shoulders. Welcome, maybe. Yes, Peter decided, he felt welcome.


	4. James

**Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter series and all its characters.**

**Warning: This chapter contains some course language (three F-bombs) and mentions of self-harm. Read at your own discretion. **

James lay underneath his favorite beech tree next to the Black Lake, watching the squirrels chase each other from branch to branch. The light summer breeze swept through his hair and clothes, rumpling them more than usual. James momentarily lamented the idea that Evans would sneer at him condescendingly for it, when it wasn't even his fault. He knew it irked her when he ran his hand through his hair, but what she failed to realize—and James abashedly refused to explain—was that it was a nervous habit, not arrogance, that prompted the gesture. He wouldn't deny that he was arrogant, but he found it ironic that the one action not caused by arrogance was her greatest complaint. James didn't understand how hair ruffling equated to conceit, either. He turned to complain about the confusion of girls to Sirius, knowing very well that his friend could not care less, but he realized that Sirius was not there. He glanced up into the branches again to see if he was lounging up there—falling out of the tree four times still couldn't deter him—but he was absent from there as well. James wracked his brain, trying to think of a detention that Sirius could have earned without him, but he came up short. _Probably in a broom closet with some bird_, he thought, snorting.

Remus wasn't sitting with James either, though James could think of a fair amount of reasons for that. Most obviously, he could be in the library. He could be curled up in his favorite armchair in the common room, though he usually liked to read outside when the weather was as fair as it was. Or, depending on how close to the full moon it was—James had no idea, it was usually Remus and Sirius who kept track of that kind of thing—he could be in bed.

Peter was gone as well, and James couldn't think of why. Generally, the boy followed James wherever he went; it made James wonder why it wasn't Peter who turned into the dog. It annoyed Sirius quite a bit, but James would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it.

James sighed, scanning the grounds. He was suddenly quite bored. As a kid, he'd been good at entertaining himself, having no siblings to play with. But he'd been spoiled over the past five years; he almost always had at least one of his friends by his side. Frankly, he didn't know what to do without them. They were all fun in their own way. Sirius was like an extension of himself; he was moody and a bit unhinged, but his different way of thinking led to some of the most wicked pranks. Remus told the best stories, and in a pinch he could lie through his teeth with the sweetest, most convincing smile. Peter was inquisitive and wanted to understand everything; he hung on James' words like a little brother.

But what was James to them? He supposed he was the unofficial "leader," though they'd never really acknowledged it. He kept Sirius sane, Remus light-hearted, and Peter included. James wasn't entirely sure any of the Marauders, himself included, would fare well alone.

James' gaze swept over the Black Lake, and a grin spread across his face as he recognized a familiar form sitting by the bank. He quickly stood up, brushed himself off, and jogged toward his friend. When he got close enough, he yelled out, "Hey, Peter! What'cha doing?"

The boy, previously hunched over and staring into the depths of the lake, started visibly. He snapped his head around and upon seeing James, scrambled up. "What do you want?" he squeaked. James frowned at the exhausted trepidation in his voice.

It was then that James really noticed how off his friend looked. He wasn't the pink, pudgy boy James was used to. He was thin, almost wasted looking. His face was sallow and inexplicably sagging with anxiety. His hair, normally tidy and brushed just so, was dull and in disarray. Eyes that usually watered with genuine excitement and enthusiasm now watered in perpetual misery. "Peter, are you okay?" James asked tentatively, not sure when this change had occurred.

Peter's face screwed up in outrage. "Is that supposed to be _funny_, Potter?" he growled. James opened his mouth to defend himself, but Peter plowed on. "You think that because you're funny man James Bloody Potter that you can rub salt into the wounds? Like it won't hurt?" James took a step back, hands raised in utter bewilderment. Peter's face had gone purple in fury, veins straining in his neck and temple. "It's bigots like you that did this to me in the first place!"

"Don't lie, Pettigrew, you did it to yourself," drawled a voice from James' right. Peter's eyes went wide and he seemed to shrink in on himself. His shoulders hunched further and he tucked his chin to his chest. James looked over to see a pack of Slytherins approaching, headed by Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Black. James scrunched his nose in confusion. The two had graduated years ago. Why were they on school grounds? James couldn't ponder long as Lucius continued, "We didn't put the knife to your wrists."

James' head shot back around to Peter, staring at the ground shamefacedly. His fists were clenched at his side and, sure enough, gauze was wrapped around each wrist. James couldn't breathe. Peter…hurt himself? Why? What had happened? Why hadn't he told James? Was James part of the reason why? These questions raced through James' head as Peter shifted uncomfortably. "Peter, wha—why?" James stuttered.

Peter glanced up to meet James' gaze, eyes hardened over again. "Oh, please. You knew it was coming. You gits egged me on. No one here has ever given a damn about me! Not one person! The professors think I'm useless, like a partial Squib! I'm the butt of every joke, the victim of endless taunts and pranks! How do you expect me to handle it?" Peter was screeching by the end of his rant, tears threatening to spill over his blotchy cheeks.

James' insides writhed and contorted in pain and despair for his friend. How could he not have seen how Peter was feeling? Was he really that self-involved? "You could have told us, Peter," he whispered, his eyes also burning with tears. "Me, Sirius, and Remus—we could have helped you."

"Me?" James whirled around once more, heart soaring at his best friend's voice. Surely Sirius could explain everything. "Why are you dragging me into this, Potter?"

The crowd of Slytherins parted, revealing Sirius standing side by side with Snape and Regulus. The momentary relief James had felt evaporated instantly. The brothers looked like twins. Sirius' hair was slicked back like Regulus', not the shaggy style that won him the eyes of the entire female population. His clothes were tidy and pressed, unlike the usual disheveled mess he wore, consisting of only half his own wardrobe, the other clothes stolen from James. He was standing upright, as his mother had taught him, rather than slouching to purposely defy her. His expression was masked, and while this was not altogether unusual, his eyes held a chilly hardness that James had only seen a few times previously, and never directed at him. Sirius was paler than normal, and slimmer too. He was the epitome of the perfect heir of the Black family—right down to his green and silver tie.

James stood openmouthed, gaping at his best friend. Sirius was his best friend, wasn't he? The silence stretched as James forgot he'd been asked a question. Sirius raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, the rest of his face remaining stoic. "Potter, I know I'm good looking, but you really aren't my type," he smirked, but his smirk was not Sirius' smirk. It was Orion Black's smirk. It didn't make any sense. Sirius hated his father. And he was James' best friend. And he was in Gryffindor. And Peter was their friend, too. And Remus—

The thought of Remus jerked James back into the present. Where was he? What had happened to Remus in the phenomenally fucked up place? "Remus," James choked out. "Where is Remus?"

"The werewolf?" Lucius queried, seeming deeply bored with the conversation.

James gasped. They knew? No, that was…that was impossible! The only people who knew were the professors, himself, Peter, and…Sirius. James glared at his supposed best friend, growling, "You told?"

Sirius' mask slipped and he looked genuinely confused. He quickly fixed his expression into one of being utterly affronted and scoffed, "What do you mean, 'I told?' He's been gone since third year. Snape found out," he said, nudging the boy with his elbow. James wanted to punch the self-satisfied look off the greasy git's face. "It was quite the scandal, don't you remember? Howlers, hexes, threats against his life…" A smile played at Sirius' lips as he thought back on the incident he'd just described. "It was quite entertaining."

James once again found himself speechless. "I wonder if he's been executed yet," Bellatrix mused, eyes lighting up with sick delight. She pulled her face into a fake pout and mocked, "Poor puppy." She began cackling, and the rest of the Slytherins joined in a low rumble. The sound shook James' bones. He glanced at Sirius again, hoping, his stomach twisting in desperation, that this was all a cleverly orchestrated joke. But Sirius, too, was chuckling darkly. His, above all else's, rose up and surrounded James, closing in, suffocating him.

James gasped awake, heart pounding in overdrive. Slowly, he wrangled himself free of his top sheet, grabbed his glasses from his bedside table, and sat up. His bleary world came into focus when he put his glasses on, and his heart slowed as he took in the natural safety of his childhood home. The air was thick and heavy with summer heat, willing James to lie back down and become one with his mattress. But his mind was racing, wide awake, contemplating the dream he'd just had.

He wasn't rightly sure why it had upset him so much; it was unnerving, but untrue all the same. It certainly wasn't anything like some of the nightmares Remus and Sirius had. James almost felt ashamed for being so frightened by his nightmare compared to the hell his friends went through, awake or otherwise. But is had been scary. There was no blood or gore, no death or threat of bodily harm. But everything had been so _wrong_. The dead look in Sirius' eyes, Peter's utter defeat, Remus' tragic and palpable absence—James couldn't place why, but it was almost familiar in its nonsense.

James shook his head in an attempt to expel the nightmare. A light snore caught his attention, and peeking out over the edge of the bed, he saw Remus and Peter sleeping soundly on their mattresses spread out on the floor. Peter was curled up on his side, and James chuckled when he realized that it was Remus who was snoring. However, the third mattress was empty, sheets balled up and discarded in the center. James glanced around the rest of the room, but Sirius was nowhere to be seen.

James sighed and climbed out of bed, tip-toing over the prone forms of his friends. Sirius had sun away from Grimmauld Place about a week ago, and hadn't been sleeping properly, if at all. The Potters had invited the other two Marauders over, hoping they could restore some normalcy to the disowned boy's life. So far, unfortunately, it hadn't worked. Sirius pretended to laugh and tease and join in the boys' antics, but his façade was becoming weaker by the day. James didn't know how much longer Sirius could go before he dropped.

James silently padded into the living room and found Sirius in the same place he spent most of the nights over the past week. James sat on the sill of the bay window next to his friend, but stayed silent. Sirius continued to stare out into the night, his expression one of tortured contemplation. He sighed and tore his gaze away to look at James. "Why are you up so early?" he asked, voice quiet and somewhat disinterested. James noted that his eyes were slightly unfocused.

"Nightmare," James answered, hoping the night disguised his blush. Sirius made no comment whether he saw it or not; he simply nodded and turned to stare out the window again. James cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Can't sleep?" he asked, and immediately chastised himself. Why was it that he couldn't even talk to his best friend? Sirius was the easiest person to talk to. _When he wants to talk, that is,_ James amended.

Sirius simply shook his head. "What was it about?" he asked, still not looking at James. "Your nightmare, I mean. What was it?"

Sirius's voice was dull, and James really didn't think he wanted to relay the whole thing to him. It was stupid. Sirius would laugh. But it was the first time Sirius had initiated a conversation since arriving and explaining his situation. Against his better judgment, James decided to humor him with the short version. "I was sitting under the tree alone, but then I saw Peter by the lake and said hi. But he looked terrible. And he started yelling at me. And I found out that he…" James wasn't entirely sure he should be telling Sirius this, especially in the unpredictably sullen frame of mind his best friend was in at the moment, but he continued, "He hurt himself. You know, like…cut himself. On the wrists. And he kept saying that we had driven him to do it. And then a bunch of Slytherins arrived. And you…" Once again, James bit his lip, unsure if he should continue. But Sirius didn't even seem to be listening. He was staring at a fixed point out the window, eyes glassed over, like he'd finally fallen asleep in that position. "Youwereoneofthem," James rushed, hoping Sirius hadn't caught it and wouldn't ask. "And apparently Remus had been found out and expelled. It was just…everything was wrong. All wrong," he trailed off.

"It could have happened," Sirius mumbled. James snapped his head up to look at his friend, but Sirius continued to avert his eyes.

James shook his head. Sirius was delirious. He'd gone too long without sleep. He started to get up, saying, "Sirius, let's get you to bed—"

"It would have happened," Sirius continued, turning to bore his eyes into James'. "That's exactly where we'd have all ended up if we hadn't met you."

James stopped cold. Sirius was staring at him intently, his bleary gaze unmoving. Slowly, James settled back down on the sill. "What do you mean, Sirius?" he asked hesitantly, unsure he actually wanted to hear the answer. "You would have been fine without me," he assured himself more than the other boy.

Sirius scrunched his eyes shut and shook his head. For a moment he looked as mad as his cousin. "No. No we wouldn't have. James, I don't know if you know this—evidently not—but you are the only thing holding us together. No," he raised his voice, sticking out his hands to stop James from interrupting him. "No, I don't mean as a group. We work fine together. I mean as individuals." Sirius ran a hand over his face, and James could almost taste how utterly exhausted he was. He waited patiently for his friend to continue, not wanting him to overexert himself. "James, this is going to sound sappy and girly, but it's true, I swear it is—I have no idea what would have happened to me if I hadn't met you. I'd have probably been miserable in Gryffindor with nowhere to run to on holidays, or I'd be miserable and exactly like the rest of my family."

"But, Sirius," James found himself interrupting against his better judgment, "you're miserable now. You hardly sleep or eat or smile and I don't know how to help."

Sirius smiled tiredly and regarded James with sympathetic eyes. "Look, James, you don't need to actively try to help. Just being you helps."

James shook his head. He'd never believed any of that nonsense about how being yourself is the best way to help heal someone. It was a farce. "I just don't understand how that can be, Sirius. There's got to be something I can do."

Sirius sighed and closed his eyes, leaning up against the window. "It's because you aren't fundamentally fucked up. You wouldn't understand."

"What?" James asked, startled. "What has that got to do with anything?"

Sirius cracked an eye open, but remained leaning against the pane. "James, your life is basically perfect. Don't try to deny it," he cautioned as James opened his mouth. "If Lily Evans rejecting you is the worst of your problems, you're pretty well off, mate." James sighed in defeat. He felt like a bit of a git, but Sirius was right. "But none of us resent you for it. Far from it. James, you make us forget all the shit we have to deal with. You make us feel normal, like things aren't wrong up here," he said, tapping on his forehead. James furrowed his eyebrows, but Sirius continued. "You make it possible for us to be normal teenagers. That's what I mean."

James simply stared at his best friend for a few moments of silence. Sirius had been right; James didn't understand that at all. He felt like Sirius was waiting for him to say something, but all he could come up with was, "Oh."

Sirius hummed, a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. Oh."

Sirius' eyes fluttered closed again, and his head nodded forward heavily before he jerked it back up, blinking his eyes open. James stood and offered his hand to Sirius. "Come on, Padfoot. You need to sleep." James had expected Sirius to argue, but Sirius only stared up at him for a few seconds before clasping his hand in James' and allowing himself to be pulled up. James kept a firm arm around Sirius' shoulders all the way back to James' bedroom; he wasn't sure he trusted Sirius not to collapse. James navigated Sirius around the two bodies on the floor and shoved him gently into his bed. James' bed was much more comfortable than the mattresses his parents had conjured for his friends, but James was willing to sacrifice his own comfort for Sirius'. Sirius was barely awake as James dumped him in the bed, and as soon as his back hit the mattress, he rolled over onto his side and pulled his knees into his chest. James grabbed the sheet from the mattress Sirius had previously occupied, unraveled it, and draped it over his now—finally—sleeping friend. Carefully, he made his way back to Sirius' mattress, and lowered himself onto it quietly, as to not wake his friends.

As he lay on his back, James mulled over Sirius' words. Was he right? Did the other boys really need him? He supposed he had been the first to fully accept Remus' condition, convincing the other two that Remus was anything but a monster. And he paid Peter the attention the boy didn't receive at home, reassuring him that he wasn't worthless because it took him longer to perform spells. And Sirius—well he supposed he'd given Sirius a family, a home to live rather than a house, and complete acceptance when he'd been denied such from his own parents. But did that make him this superhuman friend that Sirius had made him out to be? He didn't think so. He'd only treated them according to how they deserved, based on how great they each were.

James closed his eyes, deciding to think on it more in the morning. Besides, he didn't think Sirius, Remus, and Peter were the only lucky ones. The Marauders were four fiercely close and loyal friends. Although James wasn't "fundamentally fucked up," as Sirius had so eloquently put it, he figured he would have become so if he hadn't met the other three boys. He needed them as much as they needed him.


End file.
